


Drunk Girl

by Elinie



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan AU Week, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 00:23:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15352125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elinie/pseuds/Elinie
Summary: He picked up her life she threw on the floor





	Drunk Girl

«Take a drunk girl home  
Let her sleep all alone  
Leave her keys on the counter, your number by the phone  
Pick up her life she threw on the floor  
Leave the hall lights on walk out and lock the door  
That's how she knows the difference between a boy and man  
Take a drunk girl home» ©  
Chris Janson — Drunk Girl

The bar is smoky, crowded and stuffy, as it always is on Friday evening, when drinkers prefer to run away from their problems for at least a couple of hours so that in the morning they wouldn’t remember anything happened the evening before. They’d drink, pick up one fortunate girl for a one-night stand and would leave her in the morning and never call again.   
Killian Jones, the owner of the sparkling neon bar sign, get used to seeing such “one night drunken” scenes, he himself used to pick up girls for a single night in the previous years. When he got fired from the police for appearing at his office heavily drunk, no one asked about the reason of his unworthy behavior. And the reason for drinking was that the day before he buried his own brother, with whom he was separated at childhood times. Then, by fate and police service, they met in New York, but only for Jones to be late for the meeting for only an hour, and for the crazy terrorist to simply shoot the visitors of the cafe. After the accident Killian decided that he had enough. He had been fighting against the injustice of the world, but each time he kept losing all he had ever hoped for. So he left the police service, wishing his captain: "All the best." Killian never regretted his decision, even when it became clear that he did not drink simply to get drunk, but he had lived through his own tragedy and they apologized to him and promised to restore his rank. Jones rejected their offer, sold his house in New York, moved to Jersey, opened a bar with a small apartment on a top of it and began drifting with the flow, no longer hoping for happiness, nor the family.  
They are close to him, those lost people, drinking away their lives every single week, but the role of the preacher is even further from Killian than the role of a family man.  
She is different from them, this blonde, who appears in the bar once a month, regularly ordering a glass of red wine and leaving a good tip. Killian knows that the beauty is serving in the FBI, a couple of times she was drinking beer and throwing darts at a company of colleagues, it seems they were celebrating a quickly-solved criminal case. That's all he knows. So, women like her unlikely are going to deal with the men like him. "It would have been better if she was one of those" golden girls, "Jones thinks at times, it would be easier to get through to her.  
Today everything is different. On the eve of Thanksgiving, even the regular visitors prefer to stay at home and cut the turkey in the family circle, Killian doesn’t blame them, but decides to keep the bar open, hoping for luck. Luck turns out to be doubtful.  
The blonde, tiredly walking, comes when the clock strikes midnight, sits down in the corner and orders a good bottle of rum. Killian wants to tell her a joke about the “bastards-exes”, but only one glance at her makes him hold his tongue – she wears a messy shirt with bloody spots on it, tangled hair, cuts, bruises and a hunted, obsessive look. He understands that the reason why she came here to drink is pretty far different from a broken heart or another shitty scoundrel. Jones instead brings her the order and goes to serve the next table. There is an FBI badge hanging on her chest "Special Agent Emma Swan", Killian just shakes his head at such hindsight. "So, your name is Emma”  
Emma moves the bottle to herself and generally splashes one healthy portion of rum into the glass. Jones knows this look too well, but absolutely doesn’t understand how to react. He feels sudden desire to protect her and it completely knocks him out of the rut. What can he do to help her? Can he give a wise bartender's advice?  
\- Hey, you! - Emma calls, waving her right hand with a neon bracelet glowing in the dark, looking terribly stupid on a FBI agent.  
\- Aye, lass?  
\- Listen, is it true that you, bartenders, are happen to be good psychologists? -Emma asked, leaning her head on her side.  
\- Why do you need a doctor, ms FBI agent?  
Emma blinks in confusion, then snatches her badge badly from her chest and reaches for the bottle.  
\- This bloody service only cares about its own ass! And it will always stay like this!  
Only through Emma's feverish eyes, Killian realizes that this bottle of rum is not her first for today, but she herself is on the verge of collapse. He wants to go for some food, which, for sure, is in his kitchen, but Emma grabs his arm.  
\- Stop! Sit here. Consider, you will hear the FBI secrets, so to speak, from the first hands.  
There is something frightening, desperate in her drunken laughter, something that makes Killian stay and listen, and she has a thing to say.  
His name was Graham Hunter, and he had been her best and most faithful partner for ten years. They covered each other from bullets, stuck out for days in ambush and shared the last drop of water. Graham was a professional, just like Emma. They knew their business from and to; they just could not get caught up in such nonsense. Emma worked undercover; the FBI planned an operation to detain a major criminal leader who trafficked girls. Swan got to work undercover, learning all about the unfortunate souls, and today she was to be taken to "meet" with Mr. French himself, the criminal. Regina Mills, deputy head of administration and part-time, Emma's only friend, personally oversaw the case. The operation just could not go wrong! However, Emma's own mistake turned out to be fatal. The agents were in ambush when Graham led her to a meeting with French, a high heel hit the crack, and Emma, pulling out her shoe, glanced at the place where the agents were hiding. All the following happened as in a movie. In a horrible horror movie. Graham was the first to realize that they had been uncovered, and first to notice the French gun aimed at Emma. In a few hours, Swan would realize that it was much more important for his colleagues to take the criminal, having judiciously estimated the price of several hundred lives against one, but now Graham was dead, and doctors fought for Regina's life. And Emma herself is going to quit her FBI service.   
So, Killian takes the bottle from her hands and promises to replace it with coffee. In a drunken dope Emma barely reaches the kitchen, sits down on a chair and almost professionally begins to sing along to the radio stationed here.  
\- So, Killian, how did you survive the loss of your brother?  
\- I moved here and opened the bar to help and to listen to all the lost souls, but, you know what I regret?  
Emma mumbles something vaguely.  
\- I regret my quitting the police service, lass. Neither Graham nor Liam would want us to surrender. They knew that we are stronger than we think, therefore, we will survive. And I'd rather catch the idiots than I play my role of a bar-preacher here.  
Killian does not hear her answer, and when he turns around, he sees that Emma is asleep, her head on the table. Jones knows a million and one way of what one can do with a sleeping drunken girl, but he does what his heart tells him to – he reads her address in her identity card and fishes the keys to his Audi out of his own pocket.

Shutting the door of her lonely and Spartan-furnished apartment, Killian keeps telling himself that he had done the right thing. He leaves her keys and pills on the nightstand in the corridor, and dares to write his phone number on the scrap of paper.  
He goes home and buys some terrible Chinese food. He decides to flip through the channels until morning. Down below, cars are rushing, and it is raining, but the only one thing Killian can hear is her drunken confession and her haunted green eyes. 

And at seven in the morning he will be awakened by a message: "Forgive me for yesterday's mess. Could we meet after lunch at the site? I owe you for the pills. And for the confession. "  
And Jones will call himself a fortunate son of a bitch who managed to pick up Emma's life from the floor. The life she threw at his feet the day before.

End.


End file.
